


It's Always Darkest before the Dawn

by amai_kaminari



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amai_kaminari/pseuds/amai_kaminari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik Lehnsherr was a man of many talents. Unfortunately, buying a Christmas present for a telepath was not one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Always Darkest before the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lapetitesinge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapetitesinge/gifts).



> **Length:** ~4000  
>  **Prompt(s):**  
>  Prompt 1: _No light, no light in your bright blue eyes / I never knew daylight could be so violent / A revelation in the light of day_ ( Florence + the Machine)  
> Prompt 2: _Erik has no idea where to begin shopping for a Christmas present for Charles, so he enlists Raven's help (and possibly others')._  
>  **A/N:** I took liberties with the movie canon time line. Story title and section titles are quotes from the songs _Shake It Out_ and _No Light, No Light_ , respectively, by Florence and the Machine. Also, many thanks to my wonderful beta gracie-musica. I touched it last, so all mistakes are mine.  
>  **ETA:** And because it needs to be said: lapetitesinge IS AWESOME!

**I. You are the night-time fear**

Erik Lehnsherr was a man on a mission.

Currently, that mission was protecting one naive telepath and their gaggle of children.

If all his _training_ under Shaw had granted him any benefit at all, it was the ability to discipline himself, both mind and body, to adapt to new surroundings and conditions. Having learned over the years that moving from place to place undetected was easier under the cover of night, Erik had essentially trained his body to rouse before the threat of first light. These days, living in Charles' childhood home, in _their_ home as Charles insisted on calling it, there was much less need for that level of caution, but old habits died hard. As a result, Erik found himself waking up the same way every morning. The moment blue-green eyes blinked open, his mind and the rest of his body would snap immediately and completely awake, alert and ready to tally through his mental checklist, surveying the mansion for any dangers that might have materialized overnight.

With his ability, all he needed was quick scan of the grounds to tell him everything he wanted to know. It wasn't difficult to sweep the grounds for any new and unusually large concentrations of metal. Like a conductor cueing his own private brass band, in his outstretched fingertips, he could feel the reverberations throughout entire house -- the heavy trombone of metal pipes groaning, the syncopated timpani of appliance doors thumping, the staccato cymbals of silverware clanging, even the minute glockenspiel of the doorway wind chime ringing. Eyes closed and arms raised, he could sense the unique pitch and timbre of each piece of metal in building. Each day, their home played its morning reveille for him. As loathe as Erik was to admit it, its song was beginning to grow increasingly familiar to him. He wouldn't go so far as to call it comforting. At least, not out loud. And for good measure, not even inside his own head.

Outside the four walls of their home, with nothing but miles of grass and trees in the immediate vicinity, the song sounded much different. The main gate was far enough away that he could barely detect its faint pipe organ drone. Erik unconsciously breathed a sigh of relief each time he heard no more than that low hum. Then, secure in the knowledge that an army hadn't somehow managed to conceal themselves in the bushes lining their front lawn, Erik would then begin his daily rounds, checking off his mental tally at each stop.

First and foremost, Charles had to be safe. Once the telepath's room was deemed secure, Erik's next step was patrolling the wing where all of the children lay sleeping, listening carefully for any unusual activity. After that, a brisk jog to secure the outer perimeter, then a quick shower. Another set of morning rounds completed.

In any case, Charles didn't seem to mind Erik's daily routine. At least, he didn't say anything to Erik about it if he did. Besides, the children really did need to learn the discipline of maintaining a routine and what better way to teach them than by example? Then, of course, there was the fact that, after the second day of completing his morning rounds, a large cushion-laden chair suddenly appeared next to Charles' bed, and beside that, a shelf of Erik's favorite books, an extra blanket, and a small reading lamp. He observed that Charles looked entirely too pleased with himself for the rest of that day.

Erik tried to maintain his routine even the weather began to grow colder. In hindsight, that probably wasn't the best idea. By the time he returned indoors, he could see his breath, but he couldn't feel his fingers, ears, or nose. On top of that, he had an aching wrist and a skinned knee, courtesy of a patch of black ice. He did try to hide his injuries from everyone. At first, he had been fairly certain that his ploy had been successful, until he discovered that someone had conveniently left a first aid kit sitting on his bed after breakfast. Then, the next morning, one of the rooms in the wing he shared with Charles was suspiciously left open and he felt mysteriously drawn to peek into it, possibly seduced by the large concentration of metal that lay within or by some other inexplicable force that he was sure he could name if he wanted to but chose not to. Inside the newly revealed room was a full gym - complete with weights, a treadmill, and one of those new, state of the art, hydraulic rowing machines. He picked up one of the dumbbells, feeling the cool weight and solid density of it in his palms. He could feel the metal singing to him, the vibration of the iron humming softly in his hands like a lullaby, a welcoming melody whispering to him that this new room was meant for him, was built for him.

 

**II. You are the morning when it's clear**

His first and last stop each morning was always Charles' room. Erik couldn't explain why he needed to be there each morning to see those eyes and that smile, but at some point it had become very important to him. He tried not to think too hard about that. It would only detract from the mission at hand, after all.

Slowly, so as not to wake the sleeping figure within, Erik held the lock mechanism in place and carefully opened the door, without ever having to touch it. Technically, he could have just twisted the knob to open the door, he supposed -- Charles never left it locked -- but years of conditioning taught him that the fewer fingerprints he left behind, the better.

If anyone dared to ask him, he could always argue that, tactically speaking, it made sense to secure Charles' room first. Charles was generally regarded by the men in black as the leader of their new so-called _mutant division_. The man also had no hand-to-hand combat skills or survival training to speak of, making him the most obvious target for any kind of kidnapping plot. That is, assuming that the potential assailants were somehow unaware of the fact that the aforementioned floppy-haired brunet was very likely the most powerful telepath in the world. In any case, if Charles was safe, then it was unlikely that any intruder had managed to sneak past the security devices, as well Erik's and Charles' innate internal detection systems, to infiltrate the grounds.

Besides which, Charles' room had the best view of the grounds, after all, so it was purely a strategic move on his part and had absolutely nothing to do with that fact that he enjoyed the task of guarding that rumpled lump of brown curls still nestled adorably in a pile of thick Egyptian cotton sheets and fluffy goose down blankets.

And so, each day like clockwork, after the completion of his rounds, the rest of the morning would be spent sitting quietly in Charles' room until the sun rose and first light peeked curiously into the room. At some point, the sleeping form would stir. Then, as soft as an autumn sunrise, drowsy eyelids would open slowly to reveal luminous blue. Those glorious eyes would gaze up at him, followed by that smile, blossoming on full red lips.

"Good morning, Erik."

Only then, could Erik's day truly begin.

 

**III. No light, no light in your bright blue eyes**

Lately, however, something felt off.

Nothing had changed in the thrumming of metal around him. The house looked the same, save the freshly fallen blanket of winter snow. The children certainly looked the same. Noisier, perhaps, but then they'd always been prone to sibling bickering and accidental property destruction, so nothing new there.

Charles then? Now that Erik thought about it, Charles had been unusually subdued lately. The past few weeks especially, there had been a hint of sadness in his smile and his eyes seemed less bright somehow, like a dark cloud had passed over him, eclipsing the light in that expressive gaze. Erik was determined to seek out and annihilate the cause of his friend's recent discomfort.

As with any successful mission, preparation was key. In order to properly prepare, he needed to gather some intelligence. Gathering intelligence, then, meant that he needed to seek out an informant. Fortunately for him, he managed to corner Raven as she tried to steal a cookie out of the porcelain jar before breakfast. After a brief period of negotiation, she agreed to answer his questions. In exchange for her cooperation, he agreed not to reveal her transgression to Charles, who disapproved of her spoiling her appetite, and to the other children, who had been inquiring about why the cookies had been disappearing so quickly.

"You mean you _don't know_?" Raven responded, eyes wide in surprise, when Erik asked her if anything was wrong with Charles. She studied him for a few moments, as if his simple question had revealed some closely guarded, carefully hidden secret. "You really don't know, do you?"

"What don't I know?" Erik tried not to sound too indignant about that. It wasn't every day that he was told off by a someone half his age.

"It's almost Christmas," she replied matter-of-factly, like the solution to Charles' troubles should have been obvious in her statement. A small conspiratorial smile played on her lips, one that seemed to hint _I-know-something-you-don't_.

Clearly the close proximity with Charles for all those years had rubbed off on her.

"And?"

"What do you mean _'And'_?" She answered incredulously," _Aaand_ look around!" Blue hands gestured vaguely at the stark walls around them. "Does this _look_ like Christmas to you?"

He looked around, following the motion of her hands.

"No?" he ventured, trying to pretend that he actually knew what Christmas should look like. He was Jewish, after all. And until he met Charles, his life hadn't exactly afforded him the luxury of celebrating holidays. Not that he had had much reason to celebrate to begin with.

Raven looked at him like he had two heads. Not that there was anything _wrong_ with having two heads, it just wasn't the form that his particular mutation happened to take.

"Yeah? So? Fix it, Genius," she replied, glaring at him teasingly and giving him a knowing smile, as if the meaning of life and all things in the universe should somehow have been apparent in her answer.

When he failed to respond to her obviously attempts at enlightenment, she sighed, took another bite of her cookie, and said, slowly as if she had been speaking to a small child, " _Buy_ him something. It doesn't matter what. If it's from you, he'll like it."

Buy him something? Was there anything Charles needed, some necessity that Charles was lacking that Erik had somehow overlooked? He'd have to find out.

Raven was now looking just shy of smug, like she had just gifted him with the Rosetta stone. She definitely knew something she wasn't telling him. And wasn't going to tell him, by the looks of it.

Buy Charles something? Another mission then. He could handle that. Though he wasn't sure he liked the implications of the third part of her statement.

"Oh, and tell him you don't mind if he puts up a few decorations," she added, almost as an afterthought. Then suddenly, her eyes went wide again and she winced, cursing under her breath. Biting her lip, golden eyes looked down at her feet. The next words were murmured sheepishly and hurriedly as she left the kitchen.

"He told us not to say anything. Something about you being Jewish?"

After breakfast, he mentioned to Charles, as casually as he knew how, that he wouldn't mind if Charles put up a few decorations. By the next morning, 'a few decorations' covered every square inch of the mansion, both inside and out. Erik wondered vaguely if every Christmas decoration in the entire state of New York had somehow been made its way into their home in the last 24 hours. One thing was for sure, the staff must have been working overtime.

When he nearly tripped over a miniature, bell-ringing, mechanical Santa that had been _ho-ho-ho_ -ing in the hallway, Erik had to grumble.

"A _few_ decorations, Charles? In what universe does this constitute a 'few decorations'?"

His complaints might have been more effective if he just could actually muster any heat behind his words. As it were, Charles merely grinned at him as cheerful hands continued hanging bits of tinsel on the tree.

When Erik actually did trip over a box of brightly colored spheres, he made one last attempt to support his case to stop the merry madness. A dark green sphere engraved with the silver outline of a chubby winged cherub levitated from the box into his hand.

"These 'few decorations', Charles, have staged an invasion on your entire house. Look, you even have holy hand grenades!"

His words seemed to fall on deaf ears as the tree trimming failed to stop. To make matters worse, Charles began to hum a little tune that was entirely too whimsical for his liking. Finally exasperated, Erik shook his head and left the room. For the life of him, he'd never understand why hanging gaudy bits of shiny plastic and brightly colored glass on a tree made everyone so happy. On the other hand, Charles did seem to be in better spirits after that, so Erik supposed he could handle a few cherub-covered-hand-grenades-cleverly-disguised-as-Christmas-decorations in exchange for that smile returning again.

Besides, Erik had other concerns, such as how he'd be able to acquire a present on Christmas Eve for someone who had everything.

 

**IV. I never knew daylight could be so violent**

Erik Lehnsherr had numerous skills and talents. Apparently, absolutely none of the aforementioned skills properly prepared him for the harrowing task of buying a simple holiday gift for a blue-eyed telepath without losing his own mind in the process. He could speak a half dozen languages fluently, but he couldn't explain to the wide-eyed, pony-tailed sales clerk what he was looking for. He could hold his breath underwater for more than five minutes, but the heavy assault of flowery perfumes, soaps and scented candles made him nauseous. He could render barrages of bullets instantly ineffective, but the constant cacophony of saccharine holiday _noise_ \-- he couldn't bring himself to call it music -- blaring overhead made him flee for cover. He could kill a man in the blink of an eye, less than that if that man were threatening Charles somehow, but he couldn't get a brown-eyed, pig-tailed girl of maybe four or five years of age to stop glaring at him long enough so that he could reach over her to grab the last sky blue silk shirt on the rack in Charles' size.

He had begun this trip as a man on a mission. However, just a few short hours later -- after narrow escapes from dozens of wailing infants, throngs of parents climbing over each other get their hands on the latest holiday toy fad, and clusters of grannies elbowing each other over sparkly balls of yarn in a race to make that perfect oversized holiday sweater that some relative will undoubtedly toss into the back of their closets -- Erik was pretty certain he'd be glad just to make it out in one piece. Or at least make it out without serious property damage. Somehow, he didn't think Charles would be pleased if he accidentally destroyed the giant aluminum ornaments hanging precariously over his head, no matter how garish their color. The damage to the mannequins at that last storefront could at least be hidden strategically under their winter wardrobe lineup.

Why, oh why, was it so incredibly difficult to _not_ kill people?

To make matters worse, despite his troubles, he still hadn't found Charles a suitable gift. So far, he'd only seen one thing that looked like it might have been a remote possibility. A dark blue scarf wound around the neck of a mannequin in one of the window displays had caught his eye earlier. Erik couldn't tell what material it was made out of by just looking at it, but whatever it was, it looked soft and warm, like the cardigans Charles was so fond of. Sadly, it wasn't quite the same brilliant sapphire as a certain telepath's eyes, but it was still a nice, respectable shade of federal blue. It would have been a perfect gift for Charles too, if he hadn't blinked and allowed the potential gift to be stolen out from right under his nose. Clearly, he'd been robbed. By an old woman, no less, who grinned toothlessly at him as she tugged the last remaining scarf off its perch on the display dummy's shoulders. It was all he could do to look on pathetically from the wrong side of the display window, like a cat caught in a rainstorm

Suddenly a loud, shrill peal reverberated throughout the building, followed by the wails of startled infants.

_"Attention. Attention. We will be closing for the evening in 15 minutes..."_

Fifteen minutes? Since when did he have only fifteen minutes left?

_"...Please make your final purchases. Have a happy holiday and thank you for shopping with us."_

Since now, apparently.

Out of time, Erik entered the closest store and looked around, desperately trying to find something to buy, _anything_ so that this blasted mission didn't have to end up a complete failure. Spying a bin of random gloves and mittens near the cash register, he sifted through the pile, grabbed the first thing he could find in Charles' size, paid for it and all but ran back to his car. It wasn't until he made it all the way home, car safely ensconced inside their garage, that he even bothered to examine what he had bought. The clerk had kindly nestled it in a colorful tissue-paper-lined gift bag, so he had to be delicate in peeling back the crinkly feathers of paper so as not to damage it. Carefully extracting the gift, he turned it over in his palms a few times and quickly concluded that it wasn't enough. Then again, considering all that Charles had offered him, what could possibly have been enough? Still, the mission was complete and he had no time left, so he had to cut his losses and hope for the best.

 

**V. A revelation in the light of day**

The gift giving wasn't a complete disaster. Unless one could count the state of the living room after the all the wrapping had been haphazardly torn off the their respective gifts, but that was an expected casualty.

Exhausted from two straight days of 'holiday spirit,' Erik slipped quietly out of the living room, away from crumpled-wrapping snowball fights and the delighted squeals of the children, and made his way to the study, finally able to enjoy a moment of peace and quiet.

He had just sunk in one of cushiony arm chairs when he felt a familiar presence, hovering just outside the door. He'd know those cardigan buttons anywhere.

"You don't have to hide, Charles. I know you're there." He picked up one of the chess pieces, one of his black knights, and toyed with it idly before placing it down in its new position. "Besides, this is your study."

"I wasn't hiding exactly."

Erik could see the edges of that familiar mop of floppy hair come into view in the doorway.

"You're standing outside your own study where I can't see you." He let out an exasperated sigh, but couldn't help the smile that was beginning to tug at the edges of his lips, "What exactly would you call it?"

"Waiting, perhaps? Patience _is_ a virtue, after all" Blue eyes, corners crinkling in mischief, came fully into view now. _I thought maybe you wanted to be alone._

"A little late for virtue, isn't it? Besides, Santa already delivered your gifts."

A quiet, as comfortable and warm as a blanket, fell over the room as Charles entered and took the seat across from him. He studied the chess board for a moment, then moved his bishop. A pair of dark blue fingerless gloves, Erik's pathetic excuse for a holiday gift, adorned his hands.

"Erik," Charles murmured, tracing a finger along the metallic-colored stitches, as if they were actually made of gold. Like something Erik gave him was precious. Like Erik was precious. "Thank you. You really didn't have to. I know you went to a lot of trouble to buy me this. And I know that Christmas isn't even a holiday that you celebrate."

There was a question hidden in that statement somewhere. Erik was sure of it. Just what question, Erik wasn't sure of just yet. And for that matter, now that Charles had pointed it out, why _had_ Erik gone to so much trouble? Surely Charles wasn't in need of any additional possessions. And if he needed anything, it would have been easy enough for him to buy them for himself. Or send one of the staff to buy it for him. Why had it been so important for him to fight the crowds just so he could bring back what turned out to be such a meager offering? He had gotten so wrapped up in the need to buy Charles something that he'd never stopped to consider why that need existed in the first place.

Then Charles looked at him. _Really_ looked at him. Sweet, happy and, if he was reading the expression correctly, almost wistful. And all at once, Erik was certain that Charles knew what he had just been thinking. And to add insult to injury, he could tell Charles knew the answer.

"You said you'd stay out of my head," Erik muttered petulantly.

"I haven't broken my promise, my friend," Charles replied, gazing patiently at him. "Actions speak louder than words. Even the words we think."

Erik braced himself, trying to look indignant at what was sure to be some kind of lecture on the joys of holiday giving and the importance of good will towards all men and mutants, most likely delivered in one of Charles' most smug tones. Or worse, his most insufferably patient ones.

After a full two minutes of silence, however, Charles still hadn't begun the delivery of his lecture, leaving Erik to worry that maybe he'd done something wrong. Was there some vital element to this gift-giving ritual that he'd forgotten? Had he somehow failed in his mission to find Charles a suitable gift?

He looked at Charles again, and this time, instead of trying to put his thoughts into words, Charles simply closed the distance between them and kissed him, softly, tenderly, like he, Erik, was the most precious gift Charles had ever received.

 _You are._ Charles echoed in his head.

And time froze for a heartbeat. Then suddenly, like a curtain being torn open to flood a dark room with sunlight, everything became clear.

When they finally came up for air several blissful minutes later, Charles wrapped his arms around Erik's shoulder and brought their bodies flush against each other.

"I've decided that your earlier assessment was correct," Charles whispered, voice low and suggestive, as he gently ground their hips together, rubbing the firm bulge in the front of his trousers against the one mirrored in Erik's jeans. "It is a little late for virtue."

"Then why don't we head over to your bedroom," Erik heard himself saying, not quite sure where there words were coming from. "Because you were correct as well."

"And how is that?"

Blue eyes smiled up at him as Erik laced their fingers together and pulled him hurriedly to Charles' bedroom. As he closed the door, Erik couldn't help but feel that he has just agreed to take on an entirely different kind of mission. He found that he didn't mind though. It was one he'd gladly dedicate his life to completing.

"Actions do speak louder than words."


End file.
